


Unnatural Disaster

by RabidSquid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Brainwashing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grave Robbers, Other, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabidSquid/pseuds/RabidSquid
Summary: "Man maketh monsters."





	Unnatural Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Introducing a new Talon hero of mine

  
Some secrets are better left forgotten, terrible knowledge that is best to be buried in a vault that will never see light. Such secrets are hidden so well, that those that learn of them are given the choice; to preserve the secrecy to their grave, or to exploit it for their gain.

Yet for who a certain Mexican hacker that dared to delve into the records vault of Talon, she was not given that choice.

Sombra could tell she was getting attached to a few other Talon members, Reaper and Widowmaker in particular. Reaper was a cranky and cantankerous old man, his demeanour radiating bitterness and menace. Yet for the deathly presence he tried to give off, Sombra could see the remnants of Gabriel Reyes he tried to bury. But no matter how hard he tried to drown his former self, it did not stop Reaper from nagging her the way a father did to his deleinquit children or yanking her behind cover when they'd come under fire.

Widowmaker on the other hand was a challenge of sorts, glimpses of the woman she once was flickering in and out like a dying candle. The hacker liked trying to bring out more and more of the sniper's former self out, picking away at the cold exterior of the blue-skinned woman. Lately though, Sombra had found it rather easy to see more of Amelie rather then Widowmaker, the assassin almost managing a smile when she was outside of combat.

But if she was thinking, Sombra would've realized how dangerous that was.

And how she would regret all that would follow.

Finding the records vault was not the problem, but getting the door open was quick to be a lot more difficult then she thought. Obtaining an old bank was rather easy for Talon, the former Italian finnancial building appearing as a harmless veteran's club on the outside. However, Sombra was quick to learn that nothing with Talon is ever as it appears on the exterior, a war room, communications center, and barracks set up in underground levels that had not been in the modern blueprints of the building.

Apparently Mussolini used it to hide his more prized possessions, the dictator even allowing the Fuher to do the same. They were quite adapt at hiding their treasures, but Talon was able to dredge up every box of gold bars, the Third Reich's blood money used to fuel Talon's own war machine. Considering who tried to hide their secrets in this very room, Sombra could see why they'd want the greatest security measures of their time.

And frustratingly enough, they had aged well.

Nothing about the thick steel door was electronic, the vault it guarded airtight and void of any vents. Even the locks were original, the ancient technology able to cracked by those that were in the 20th century vaultcraking trade. With practically no one left in that line of work and nothing about the door able to be hacked, Sombra reached the bitter conclusion that she'd have to open it the old-fashioned way. Only question was if she tried the legal way first or skipped that altogether.

Deciding on the former, she started making her way to the dimly lit section of the barracks, the biohazard symbol printed onto one of the doors that made the hacker smirk. With a few flicks of her fingers the locks disengaged, Sombra pushing the door open. "The biohazard smybol is not there for decoration." A familiar voice chided.

"Then get a better lock." Sombra retorted as she folded her arms across her chest.

Sighing, Moira shed her bloodied gloves and turned away from her latest dissection subject to face the hacker. "What is it you want from me Sombra?"

"Access into the records vault." Sombra answered, the geneticist chuckling.

"The greatest hacker has been beaten by an outdated door." Moira remarked as she started washing her hands. "What manner of blackmail material are you hoping to find anyways?"

"Ha ha, funny." Sombra sarcastically replied. "And I'm not trying to extort anyone, I'm just looking for intel on the Arachnid Project."

Moira's shoulders tensed at the sound of a name she hoped never to hear again. "...you are on thin ice lass." Drying her hands off, Moira's mismatched eyes glared into Sombra with a look that promised agony. "What do you want that information for?"

"...to help a friend." Sombra replied, none of her sarcasm or veiled puppet-master attitude evident.

Running a hand through her short orange hair, Moira sighed. "You disagree with the proposed motion too?"

"Do you?" Sombra narrowed her eyes.

"I am still deciding, but Gabriel is against it." Moira jammed her thin hands into her white pants' pockets. "Akande supports it though and Maximillian is also uncertain."

"You created her." Sombra remarked pointedly. "You're probably the best biologist out there so Talon contracted you to put her brain in a blender and then slow her heart, didn't they?"

Moira eyed the hacker wearily. "Not entirely. I may have been able to alter her physiology to accomodate her slower heart rate, but I am not accountable for the change in her personality."

"Then who is?"

A shiver ran through Moira's spine as she recalled the insane and humorless laughter that haunted her sleep. "Someone far worse then me."

Sombra's eyes widened as she noticed the slight and easy to miss signs of fear in Moira. The Irishwoman was practically a mad scientist who could turn into a shroud of mist like Reaper, and someone was scaring her? "Dios mio, how bad is this guy?"

"Are you familiar with the Bloodwater Incident in Argentina, Bolivia, and Venuzuela?" When Sombra nodded, Moira continued. "The poisoned water supplies that killed near 200,000 people did not occur from the underground lead deposits that the governments claimed was the cause. It was a single madman who dumped various toxins into the water supplies which led to the high death toll and birth defects along with a large culling of crops and livestock that led to food shortages."

Sombra could taste the bile in her mouth. "...why would anyone do that?"

"When I asked him, he said that he had nothing better to do at the time."

That answer alone explained why Sombra had never known about Moira's co-conspirator in the Arachnid Project. "Okay, he's screw-loose. How about we nix that idea and just try handling this ourselves?"

Moira sighed as she ran her thin fingers through her hair. "Completely altering a person's psyche is nothing like flicking a switch Sombra. There are hundreds of different factors to consider and psychological risks that can threaten their sanity should you make even a thousandth of a percent of a mistake." Her red and blue eyes glared daggers at the hacker. "The margin of error is so thin that you need someone who is practiced in this trade for at least a decade's worth of practical experience and with brainwashing as sophisticated as Widowmaker's, only one man was knowledgeable enough in this field to carry it out."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sombra sighed. "...there's no one else?"

"Not to his degree of qualification." Moira admitted. She leaned back on the counter, the scientist looking visibly drained. "Besides, he went missing not long after Widowmaker was 'saved' by Overwatch."

"Where are they holding him then?"

"...only Gabriel Reyes knows where he is." Moira pulled up a seat. "He was so determined to get rid of him that he even kept myself, McCree, and Shimada in the dark about it. There's no files, digital or hardcopy, no record of where he's hidden."

"So we need to convince him then?" Sombra asked.

"You need to." Moira corrected. "I am still undecided."

 

* * *

 

"...you want to know where I put that fucker?!" Reaper seethed, his blistered and rotted skin leaking black mist.

"To keep la arana alive, yes." Sombra retorted, her arms folded over her chest.

Reaper was not in his combat gear, the mercenary sporting a black pair of cargo pants and t-shirt. His skin kept changing from decaying to reveal his sallow muscle and yellowed bones before regenerating into a rotted and necrotic shadow of what it once was. "Do you have any idea what sort of price you will have to pay?"

Sombra stuck her chin out at the old man. "I don't care so long as I save a frien--"

Reaper slammed his fists into the wall behind him, a spidersweb of cracks appearing in the concrete. "YOU CANNOT SAVE AMELIE LACROIX! SHE DIES EITHER WAY!" His eyes glowed an unnatural bloody scarlet as he continued ranting. "If her mind's not put back under Talon's control, they'll put her down like a dog! But if you let that sick bastard get her hands on her again, he'll kill the last of Amelie until there's only the Widowmaker!"

Sombra had backed up from the furious ghost, a whirlwind of black fog seething and coiling around him. "THAT is the price you must pay Sombra! If you decide to bring that fucker back, all the deaths and blood he spills will be on YOUR hands! Not mine, not Talon's, not his, yours."

He slaughtered a few hundred thousand people for fun. A voice in the back of Sombra's mind nagged. Do you really want to bring him back?

The storm of black vapor began to ease, Reaper's eyes returning to their usual state; twin black pits with a lone crimson pinprick of light burning in each one like the last two stars in a dying universe. Staring into the unnatural eyes, Sombra's face remained rigid despite the tremor in her voice. "I do not want to lose another friend Gabriel."

Reaper's snarl was made more terrifying with his lips and half of his chin rotting off. "...be careful what you wish for Sombra."

 

* * *

 

The table once held a map of the destiny of the world in a great war long ago, a madman passing the death sentence to an entire race. Most of Talon's shadowy commanders and leaders were gathered, but the only ones Sombra was concerned with was the hulking and muscly frame that carried the Doomfist, the sharply-dressed Omnic next to him, the redheaded scientist with the half-mask and the ghastly man who looked like the Grim Reaper.

"We are here at your request Sombra." Doomfist's voice was a sharp sword in soft reeds, his hand on the hilt.

Folding her hands on the table, Sombra cleared her throat. "I believe I can offer an alternate method to handle the Widowmaker issue. We can restore her to her original mindset of absolute obedience and not need to liqudate her."

"How do you plan to do so?" Maximillian brushed imaginary lint off of his pinstripe suit.

"A few reliable sources have told me that you once employed an operative by the callsign of 'Plague'." Sombra noticed the immediate tension in the room, everyone entering various stages of apprehension. "I know where we can find him. All we need to do is bring him back to Talon and he can fix Widowmaker."

"You are making quite the gamble with his proposal." Doomfist's gaze seemed to dissect Sombra. "Is this weakness?"

"It's practicality." Sombra bristled. "You've made quite the investment in the recruitment, reprogramming, and training of Widowmaker. You could start again, but time is against us and you do not have time to try and replicate your perfect assassin."

There was a quiet whir from the cooling fans in Maximillian's processors. "...I believe that I have reached my own decision. I vote for preserving the Widowmaker for the time being." The Omnic turned his gaze to Moira. "You are the deciding vote Dr. O'Deorain."

Moira's heterochromic eyes bore into Sombra's, the hacker feeling a chill in her bones. "...I vote for preserving the Widowmaker."

Pursing his lips, Doomfist nodded. "Very well then. Sombra, as the one who has proposed this course of action, you will lead a team to recover the Plague and bring him back to rehabilitate Widowmaker."

Sombra had won her case, but it did not ease the knot in her stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

"...really?"

"I did not want him getting out any time."

Sombra, Reaper, and Moira were gathered around a cross made of two wooden boards nailed together, 'Unknown' etched into the wood. The graveyard was empty, the trio's black combat gear providing relative camoflauge in the summer night.

"Well if he's been buried for 7 years, he's dead." Sombra snorted.

Reaper drove his shovel into the ground and started digging. "Trust me, he's alive."

Sombra wasn't sure what was more unnerving; the fact that they were digging up a grave at night while a murder of crows gathered in a nearby dead willow tree, or that the coffin they were exhuming might have a living person inside it. Cursing the coarse wood that roughly brushed her skin, Sombra then recalled that it was her idea they use shovels to keep it quiet.

Eight minutes of digging and Moira's shovel made a 'thunk'. Freezing, the trio started brushing away the dirt to reveal an oak coffin. "...you two, get clear." Reaper ordered. "No telling what kind of mood he'll be in."

Sombra and Moira clambered out the grave as Reaper reached for the lock to the coffin's lid. Snapping it off with his clawed gauntlets, thick plumes of sickly green mist seeped out of the coffin as it cracked open. To everyone's surprise, Reaper started coughing as if he had suddenly developed lung cancer.

Splaying her left hand, Moira released a stream of golden nanites. "Get out, now."

Ghost-walking to the edge of the grave, Reaper's breathing eased. The bottom of the grave was blanketed by a ghoulish green fog, the wood creaking as it opened. Having watched every horror movie known to man, Sombra thought that she would be prepared for the scene unfolding before her.

She was wrong.

So, so wrong.

An arm shot out from the mist, grabbing at the edge of the grave. The sleeves to the dress shirt and blazer it wore were ragged and torn, the hand at the end of it looking originally human with all manner of jagged metal implants crammed into the flesh. There was a groan from the coffin as another arm extended out, the body and head of the man inside emerging from the fog. He may have once worn a finely-tailored suit with black and green stripes but it was shabby and full of holes, revealing the crude cybernetics that were lodged into his body as if he operated on himself.

Sombra felt her lunch attempt to escape at the thought that he probably had.

Crawling out his grave, the Plague shakily rose to his full height. Nothing about him was unremarkable from the glass tubes full of gods know what sticking out of his forearm and the studded heads of nails in his knuckles, but his head was a nightmarish sight. His gas mask covered only the lower half of his face, two tubes running from the mouth to his back. It had been moulded to resemble a pair of grinning teeth, bandages with eyes inked onto them wrapped around his face with tufts of hair poking out.

Taking a rattling breath, Plague snickered. "Well now, I suppose Reyes succeeded! The angel of death has come for me."

"I'm no angel." Reaper spat.

"And Death is now an atheist." Plague's laughter was quiet and unnerving, the only eye of his that was exposed madly darting between the three Talon agents. "Such frightened faces, it must be my birthday!" Stretching his arms out, Plague spun around. "We'll need cake and candles for today then! It'll be most magnificent garden party, everyone will be dressed to the nines as if they're coming to a funeral!"

"Plague, calm yourself." Moira's voice was firm, but her right hand was like a scorpion's stinger at the ready.

Stopping in his mad spinning, Plague cackled as he looked at Moira. "My my, you've gotten so old!"

"Shut up or we'll put you back in the ground." Reaper growled, his hands on his shotguns.

Turning his head around with an unnatural amount of flexibility in his neck, Plague tilted his head at Reaper. "Since when does Death dig up graves? I thought he planted the dead like funeral flowers."

Keeping a hand on her SMG, Sombra eyed Plague with caution. "Listen, we're with Talon. We need you to work for us again."

"Talon? I do hope they've reconsidered my dental plan." Plague's footsteps were jerky and twitchy, one of his feet wearing a worn out dress shoe. "After all, I'm running out of places to keep my teeth collection!"

"...teeth collection?" The question slipped out of Sombra's lips before she even realized it.

"My memento moris." Plague's voice dropped to a deeper tone with each syllable, a twisted glint in his manic gaze. "All rotting, all buried, all feeding the roses for the requiems."

"Revoltingly pleasant as this discussion is, we have business to discuss." Moira snapped, a violet glow dancing in her finger tips.

Snickering, Plague returned to his unearthly upbeat voice. "Then let us discuss our business."

"You turned Amelie Lacroix into the Widowmaker 7 years ago." Reaper spat, the ghostly man calling upon all of his strength to avoid splattering the madman's brains across the ground. "Her original psyche is starting to resurface."

"My masterpiece is in a state of imperfection?" Plague cackled as he spread his arms out. "Then allow me to rectify the issue! Take me to her and I will pick her apart until her ghost cannot stitch her corpse together."

"You are not killing her." Sombra growled, her index finger tapping the trigger to her gun. "We need you to do whatever it was you did 7 years ago."

"I know child." Plague steepled his fingers, his fingernails a sickly yellow. "The key to her mind is to dismember the part of it that is Amelie Lacroix and making sure it cannot be put back together again." He took a step towards the Talon agents, all of them readying their weapons. "Because there's nothing more beautiful then a monster made from a human."

"You crossed a line before." Moira conjured a violet biotic orb, Sombra wondering where the line was with Talon. "Cross it again and we will put you back in your grave."

Plague's shoulders slumped, his voice bitter. "Well that's no fun, I cannot mutilate anyone there..." He examined his hands, both of them covered in jagged gashes. "...and I am starting to run out of room."

"You do what we tell you." Reaper snarled. "You kill and torture, only who we say you can. Got it?"

Huffily crossing his arms, Plague snorted. "Fine, just get me out of these rags and into something I could wear to weddings and wakes."

"Never took you for a fashion freak." Sombra scoffed as they escorted Plague to their waiting truck.

"If I am going to horrifically disfigure people in the most horrendous of ways, I will do so in style."

 

* * *

 

Stepping off the jet and onto the landing pad, Sombra was beginning to regret her proposed plan. Keeping Plague blindfolded, Reaper and the hacker roughly guided him into one of Talon's strongholds. She thought that the Junker they hired awhile back was chatty, but Plague was a whole different kind of disturbingly talkative.

"...and that was when I dropped her into the grave full of spiders. A single bite from one of them is non-lethal, but arachnophobics dosed on psycho-stimulants are not renowned for retaining that fact." Plague finished breezily as the two Talon agents led him down a staircase. "Which reminds me of the first time I tried electro-interrogation--"

"Shut up." Reaper spat before shoving Plague into a large room that was little more then bare concrete with a bed.

Pulling his blindfold off, Plague looked around. He had insisted on being better dressed before anything else, the madman sporting a sharp suit consisting of dress pants and shirt with a double-breasted vest and blazer, all of them sporting black and varying shades of green in vertical stripes. "Well I must say, these are rather spartan conditions."

"We will provide you with what you need in due time." Reaper growled. "This will be your workshop. We bring prisoners to you, you do not leave this room without myself, Moira, or Doomfist personally accompanying you."

Placing a gloved hand on his heart, Plague dramatically took a wounded pose. "My dear Reaper! Do you not trust me?"

The mercenary idly drummed his clawed fingers on his shotgun.

Cackling, Plague's voice dropped to a menacing bass tone. "Good choice." Peeling his black leather gloves and trenchcoat off, Plague idly tossed them onto the floor. "First item would be a coatrack, prefferably circa-1894." His voice returned to its crazed tone as he adjusted the wide-brimmed fedora on his head, his eyes hidden with a pair of circular black goggles that were not strapped to his head. "Afterwards, my old tools as well."

"Top of my to do list." Reaper spat before he and Sombra vacated the room. Locking the door with several thick iron bars, Reaper pointed to the door. "You pull one of your stunts with this guy, I'm leaving you with him."

 

* * *

 

Amelie did not want to be here. She was screaming and thrashing, trying to escape. She would fight tooth and nail to get out, she was more then willing to gouge out her captor's eyes with her thumbs. She knew what was coming and Amelie would have none of it. Even if she was killed in her escape, it would've been far better then the fate that waited for her.

Amelie wanted to escape the chair she was strapped into, she wanted to break the neck of the twitching and snickering man that had his back to her.

But she couldn't.

Her body remained rigid and motionless.

"I hear that you have made a most exemplary service record." The madman cackled as he hung his green and black blazer on the workbench. "I suppose this is how a proud parent would feel, but what would I know of that? All the parents I've met are burying their children!"

Widowmaker watched as Plague started to roll up his sleeves, revealing the stitches in his sickly colored skin. "But still, you have started to slip, haven't you?" His hat joined his jacket on the bench, his oily black hair messily slicked back. "I suppose Dr. Bowie had something to do with that with her turning you into something from an Eiffel 65 song."

Amelie screamed and thrashed in her seat, spitting a thousand curses at the man who took her apart. "But you, you are most special Widowmaker. Unlike the others, you've survived." Amelie would've loved to wring his neck, but she could not escape. "The others may have killed their husbands like you, but they were sloppy. Practice for you, my masterpiece."

Widowmaker's face remained emotionless as she watched Plague pry the goggles off of his eyes, revealing the small blades that kept them hooked in place. Amelie desperately tried to look away from those mad, inhuman eyes, but she could not get the rest of herself to listen.

"Do not fret, I will not harm you." Widowmaker idly watched him rest the metal headpiece on her head, wires running from the iron bands to several car batteries. He placed a rubber block between her teeth, the assassin biting down on it.

Plague unfastened his gas mask, letting it fall to reveal his face. Widowmaker gave him a cold and lifeless look while Amelie screamed as she saw the nightmarish visage that had haunted her for nearly a decade.

"I will make you better, just like before."

Several metal spikes from the headpiece drove through Widowmaker's skull and delivered the high voltage electricity straight into her brain.

Amelie and Widowmaker screamed as they were picked apart while Plague grinned at the sight.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to learn more about the infamous serial killer and chief interrogator of Talon, let me know and I may continue this work


End file.
